Who's the HalfBlood Now?
by Myrtle the Tyrtle
Summary: Book the first in the Sequence of Alternative Events. In a nutshell, this is HP6:HBP ripped into pieces and put back together again, just the way I like it! Guest starring 'Someone Else' as the HalfBlood Prince!
1. Chapter 1: The other minister

**A SEQUENCE OF ALTERNATIVE EVENTS**

BOOK THE FIRST: WHO'S THE HALF-BLOOD NOW?

**By MYRTLE THE TYRTLE**

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**A/N: **Welcome, reader, to a SEQUENCE OF ALTERNATIVE EVENTS. This is set in the Harry Potter Universe, but twisted horribly out of proportion so that whatever my good friend JKR has written becomes totally and utterly dismal. Heroes turn to villains in this first book miserably entitled 'WHO'S THE HALF BLOOD NOW?'. Read, enjoy and review.

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**CHAPTER ONE: THE OTHER MINISTER**

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It was nearing midnight and the newly promoted Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, contemplating his newfound success. He certainly hadn't expected his predecessor to drop down dead in the middle of a press conference (what was that green flash of light?), and he certainly hadn't expected to be made the PM the next day.

And now for something even more surprising than those two events put together: a small portrait of a froglike little man wearing a long silver wig just coughed. "No, that can't be right…" the PM tried to reassure himself. But then the painting coughed again, a little louder.

"I must be madder than Herbert Chorley!" he exclaimed, and the portrait began to speak.

"To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Fudge."

"What the…"

"Hang on, you're a new chappie. Would you like a visitor?"

"Um…"

"Splendid. Come on, through, gents."

The Prime Minister was lost for words, as if by magic, the fire in the fireplace turned green and two men stepped through. One was portly, wearing a long pinstriped cloak and a lime green bowler hat; the other was taller, with looks rather like an old lion. He walked with a limp and wore a pair of wire-frame spectacles.

It was he who spoke first. "Good evening, minister. How are we today?"

"Er, I… who are you and what are you doing in my office!?!"

The man with the hat looked questioningly at the portrait in the corner. "He's a new chappie, Fudge."

"Oh, I see. Well there was no need for me to come here then. He hardly needs to know me now." Scowling at the lion-man, he left the way he had come a few short minutes earlier.

There was an awkward silence as Fudge disappeared. It was soon broken by the other new arrival.

"Good evening, Prime Minister of Muggles. My name is Rufus Scrimgeour, and I am a wizard."

"A what?"

"Wizard. But please don't interrupt me. I have some grave news to tell you."

"Grave news? You're telling me grave news! I've got my hands full here trying to pick up where old what's-'is-face left off! How bloody unfair for him to die and me be left with all the bridges and hurricanes and murders! So go find some other sucker to trick into thinking you're some kind of crackpot old fool who can do magic. Coz this one's busy. Now get out of my office before I call the police!"

The wizard sighed. "I did warn you not to interrupt." He pulled a long wooden stick out of his pocket and waved it in the air. In an instant, the Prime Minister's desk had turned into a pig. It grunted loudly and ran out of the room.

"Are you doubting I'm a wizard now, Mr Minister?" The Muggle was too shocked to reply, so Scrimgeour continued. "A brief history of wizards: over 1000 years ago we were feared by your non-magic race, the Muggles. We went into hiding, but every so often the two worlds collide. For example, in 1945 the Dark Lord Grindelwald was terrorizing our world at the same time Hitler was warring in yours. And more recently, evil wizards have been causing death and destruction in your world because we would not comply with their sinister demands."

"Death and de-"

"Yes. The bridge, the hurricane, the murders. All done by Lord -- You-Know-You and his followers, because I wouldn't step aside-"

"So it's your fault all my people have died!"

"Yes I'm afraid it is. But we're doing all we can to stop them."

"But for heaven's sake – you're _wizards_! You can do _magic_! Surely you can sort out – well – anything!"

Scrimgeour moved up to the fireplace, and the flames turned green. "The trouble is, the other side can do magic too, Prime Minister."

And with that, he stepped through and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2: Spinster's End

**A SEQUENCE OF ALTERNATIVE EVENTS**

WHO'S THE HALF-BLOOD NOW?

**By MYRTLE THE TYRTLE**

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CHAPTER TWO: SPINSTER'S END

Many miles away, a pleasantly well-fed young fox was idly chasing a passing butterfly in a cosy and peaceful green field. He danced over to the nearby river, in which flowed clear, crystal blue water. Fish were diving in an out of it in an almost picturesque way.

But them, with a very faint _pop_, a small, long nosed creature with large, bat-like ears appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The fox froze, wary eyes fixed upon this strange new phenomenon. The creature seemed to take its bearings, then set off with light, quick strides, his head only slightly taller than the long grass.

With a second and louder _pop_, another small creature materialised.

"Wait!"

The high-pitched cry startled the fox, now crouching almost flat in the undergrowth. It leapt up from its hiding place and up the bank. It emerged face to face with the creature.

"Oh, Kreacher, look at the cute little foxie! Who's a cute little foxie? You are! Yes, you are! Dobby does like you!"

The fox growled cautiously, and the creature – Dobby – backed away.

"OK, I'm coming now, Kreacher. Go away, now nice foxie." He turned hurriedly, and broke into a run. "Kreacher, wait!" The fox smiled, and went back down to the water. There was no need to chase the newcomer; he was plenty full already.

Dobby met his kinsman Kreacher at a railing separating the river from a street. He grabbed his arm. "Kreacher – wait – listen to Dobby!"

"Go back, fool of an elf!"

"Kreacher must listen to Dobby!"

"Kreacher has listened already. He has made his decision. Leave Kreacher alone!" Kreacher dashed through the railings and made his way up the street to a large house on the corner.

"He lives here, of all places? Filthy Muggle-loving blood traitor!" He walked up to the door and paused, hand ready to knock.

"Kreacher, no!"

But the elf did not heed the warning, and knocked on the door. Dobby had only just caught up, panting under his breath painfully, when the door opened.

"Master Bruce."

"You're late, Kreacher. But come in." A tall, thin man, face covered in shadows, led the elves through into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not often inhabited.

Bruce gestured the elves towards the sofa, but neither sat down. "We cannot sit in the presence of the great Bruce Helliwell," stammered Kreacher.

"You will sit when and where I tell you to, Kreacher, or this shall not go ahead." Kreacher reluctantly sat down, followed by a more hesitant Dobby, who pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged himself tightly.

Helliwell did not sit; he turned on his heel and began to pace around the room. Suddenly, he froze. "They are coming! Make yourselves scarce!"

Following his every command, the elves used their magic to make themselves invisible. As they did this, Helliwell pulled a wand from his pocket. He pointed it at several points in the room, and they became instantly splattered with thick, red blood. Another wave of the wand resulted in several objects, including a grandfather clock, shattered and crumbled into pieces.

"Wormtail!" he called, as he crushed a packet of biscuits under his feet. A ratty, middle-aged man came running.

"Master called?"

"Yes, Wormtail. Go upstairs and make sure our… guest… is comfortable. We don't want her making any noise to distract our visitors."

The doorbell rang.

"They're here! Go!"

Wormtail turned and ran towards the stairs, while Bruce Helliwell transfigured himself into a large but under-stuffed raggedy armchair, just as an old man with a beard and spectacles led a youth with raven-black hair and glasses into the room.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear."

"What's wrong, Professor?" Not too bright this one. That's why they had chosen him.

"Wands out, Harry. They may still be here… but… something's not right…" Frowning, the tall wizard paced his way up to the chair. He jabbed his wand in, and the chair cried, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Bruce."

"Dumbledore! That hurt!" The chair was now a man, again.

"I am gravely sorry. But you did not return my owl."

"Oh, yeah, about that…"

"Will you be returning to Hogwarts this September?"

"Yes, yes, of course I will. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"And yet you hide from me when I come to visit?" Dumbledore gave an amused smile. "I wonder if I might use your bathroom."

"Second on the left, down the hall."

Dumbledore left, and Helliwell moved closer to the boy, Harry.

"Hello, Harry. I must say, your eyes…"

"Like my mother's?"

Helliwell nodded. "Come over here so I can see better, in the light."

Harry reluctantly moved over, and Helliwell grabbed his right hand with his own. "Now, Kreacher!"

Kreacher reappeared and menacingly glared at Harry. "Master didn't want Kreacher. Master will get his comeuppance…"

"Harry!"

Harry spun around to look straight into Helliwell's eyes, and the older man applied Legilimency to him. Harry could not resist. With a weakened mind, it was now easier for Helliwell to apply the Imperio curse.

"Harry James Potter!" spat Helliwell. "You are now under my command, and will make an Unbreakable Vow. Kreacher shall be our Bonder!"

"No, Harry Potter, do not do it!" cried Dobby, rematerializing, but it was no use. The boy could not hear him.

Harry and Helliwell lowered themselves onto their knees. Kreacher picked Harry's wand out of his back pocket, stood over the kneeling wizards and placed the tip of the wand on their linked hands.

The elf spoke, "Will you, Harry, fulfil the task given to Bruce Helliwell by the Dark Lord?"

"I will."

"And will you, whenever you hear the words 'stop it, you fool!" go into a trance and move to carry out the aforesaid task?"

"I will."

"And if you should fail in your task, will you purge your soul with the greatest and most powerful curse known to wizardkind, the Avada Kedavra."

"I will."

Red flames shot out the end of the wand, and encircled the hands like a red fiery snake. They extinguished themselves and the elves regained their invisibility just as Dumbledore came into the room again.

"Ready to go, Harry?"

Harry stood, shakily, unaware of what he had just done. "Coming, sir."

The pair left in silence.

When they had gone, Helliwell said, "Dobby, please go upstairs and find the man known as Wormtail. Tell him you want "the treatment"." He raised his wand, and Dobby found he could not resist.

"Come Kreacher. We have work to do." The wizard and elf also left. The room was now quiet.

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In an upstairs bedroom, Professor Minerva McGonagall was bound, gagged and lying on a bed. Wormtail was standing over her with a greedy look on his ratty face, and a house-elf was at the door looking thoroughly disgusted.

"You shall not harm Harry Potter's Gonagall!" cried the elf in a squeaky voice. In a flash of light, McGonagall's restraints were on Wormtail.

"Thank you, Dobby," sniffed the professor. "But do not leave yet, I have an Unbreakable Vow to make with this traitor before he leaves my house forever!" she cackled wildly. "Sorry, I've always wanted to do that."

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**A/N: **Sadly, this is the end of the chapter. Quite possibly the longest thing I have ever written! Aren't you impressed? If yes, review. If no, review and tell me what I can do to improve this.

_Will you, humble reader, watch over this story and review it every chapter until the end? And will you read the other stories located on the userpage of this author and review them too?_

Remember, if you break the unforgivable vow, you die.

**:-) MYRTLE (-:**


	3. Chapter 3: An excess of Phlegm

A SEQUENCE OF ALTERNATIVE EVENTS 

BOOK THE FIRST: WHO'S THE HALF-BLOOD NOW?

**By MYRTLE THE TYRTLE **

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**A/N: **Well, OK, it was mentioned on the MYRTLE THE TYRTLE page (link at the top of your screen – it should be highlighted in purple, but blue will be fine) that there would be NO updates or new stories while my exams are running. Well, Myrtle has two words for you: STUDYING SUCKS! Here's chapter three of HALFBLOOD. Set from end of Chapter 4 HBP.

And also: thank you, my humble reviewers. Unfortunately, some of them happened upon deletion late last night, so could I have some more to make up for it, if it isn't asking too much?

Finally, just to clarify: Harry doesn't know what Helliwell did to him when Dumbledore was in the bathroom.

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CHAPTER THREE: AN EXCESS OF PHLEGM 

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Shortly after leaving the house of Bruce Helliwell, Dumbledore and Harry arrived at a little cottage surrounded by grass and chickens. The house was leaning over a bit, as if there were too many children at the top all trying to get some sleep before they woke up the next day and started pranking each other.

The ancient man led Harry into a rundown stone outhouse where the Weasleys – for this was their house – had lived ever since they had had to sell their old house to an orphanage to raise money to buy food for their far too many children.

"Harry!" Dumbledore stopped abruptly before the door and turned to face Harry. "I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased you seem to have gotten over the death of Sirius Black, your Godfather who died last term at the hands of his cousin when you were unable to save him."

Harry blinked back the tears. He really was a sensitive boy.

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," said Dumbledore gently. "Naturally, this will greatly affect your mental wellbeing, as you will now go back to being the poor little orphan boy-who-lived with a big death threat above your head and no one who loves you."

"But I'm learning to cope with it all, Professor. When I was at the Dursley's," interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, "I realised I can't shut myself away or – or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that."

"Nonsense, Harry. If you ever want to have a little cry when we're back at school, just come into my office and do it there, OK?"

"No, Professor. Anyway, life's too short. It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is, I'm going to take as many Death Eaters as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."

"Harry, Harry, Harry. You'll never be able to kill anyone. You're too much of a softy! I don't think you've ever killed as much as a spider in your life!"

Harry grimaced. This was indeed true.

"Um, so, about this weather…"

"Oh, yes, Harry, the weather! A most important subject at the moment, especially considering that LORD VOLDEMORT IS TRYING TO KILL EVERYBODY!"

"Look, Pro-fess-or," Harry forced the words out. "I was just trying to change the subject, OK. No need to make a big deal out of everything!"

He pushed past his headmaster and ran into the Weasley outhouse.

"Harry, dear! Gracious, you gave me such a fright, Albus said not to expect you before next morning!" It was Molly Weasley. She got up from a sleeping bag on the floor in order to deplore how thin Harry was.

"Yeah, well he's said a lot of things," said Harry, angrily. "Where's Ron?"

"Orange sleeping bag, over by the table, dear," she replied, and Harry manipulated his body so he could move over to where she pointed.

"Yes, it gets a bit crammed in here, doesn't it," she said, as if reading his mind, "what with only having the one room for all of us."

Ron was still asleep, and didn't even stir when Harry poked him with his toe.

He turned back to Mrs Weasley. "So what's with only having one room?"

"Well, it started back when Arthur lost his job at the Ministry – stupid mumble mumble Scrimgeour – and we had to sell the house to an orphanage to get any money for food."

"Why don't you get a job, Mrs Weasley. I'm sure you have lots of skills and talents that could be put to use somewhere. Maybe at Fred and George's-"

She turned on him angrily. "Don't you mention those names!"

"Wha?"

"Oh, sorry, dear, it's just they just don't have a flair for business! I was right not to approve, especially since they went bankrupt last month and are now relying on us for everything. And it's even harder when we don't have anything of our own."

Harry would have offered them some of his vast amounts of gold, but he knew they would not accept any.

"So where's Mr Weasley now?"

"Well, he should be coming home from job searching soon." Both their eyes glanced at the personalised clock standing tall against the wall. All nine hands pointed at _mortal peril_.

"It's been like that for a while now," said Mrs Weasley, in an unconvincingly causal voice, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal peril now… I don't think it can just be our family… but I don't know anybody else with a clock like this so I can't check."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Mrs Weasley jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed up against the wood she called softly, "Arthur, is that you?"

"No. It's Albus Dumbledore."

"Albus!" she opened the door. "What are you doing out here?"

"I believe Harry can answer that question, Molly."

Harry blushed, then (as Ron had woken while Harry was talking to Molly) left the room, dragging his redheaded friend wearing revolting paisley pyjamas.

"Wuzzgoingon?" murmured Ron, shivering in the early morning breeze. "Harry? What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here til Tuesday."

"It is Tuesday, Ronald," came a feminine voice. It was Hermione, wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown. "Hi, Harry."

"Hermione, hi. Where were you?"

"Oh, I just, went for a walk…"

Ron snorted. "A walk? C'mon Hermione, it's no secret that Victor Krum is staying down in the village!"

Hermione blushed the famous Weasley red.

"Well what about you and Fleur then?"

"Fleur's here?"

"Oh yeah, she and…"

"'Arry! Eet 'as been too long!" A rush of silvery-blonde hair flew itself at the trio.

"Gmff!" Harry struggled to speak.

"Hey! You! Get off my… oh, hiya Harry!"

"Hi, Tonks," said Harry to the brightly auror. "Er, are you two…"

"Yeah. We're going to get 'civilised' next summer! Isn't it great!"

Harry just grinned, in a shocked kind of way. He had never picked Tonks to swing that way.

"Well, we've got to be getting back inside. It's mighty nippy out here! Freeze the… right off a…" Tonks and Fleur, arms around each other in a very femme-slash kind of way, vacated the grassy patch upon where the trio were standing.

"That was odd," commented Harry.

"That was nothing! You should see what they get up to when…" began Ron, but stopped when Hermione gave him a discerning look. "So, Harry how was your summer?"

"Well apart from the fact that the only person who ever gave a damn about me died, yeah I've been pretty good."

"Who… oh, Sirius," said Hermione. "Look, Harry it wasn't your fault."

"It was so! I was fighting Bellatrix and when I didn't finish her off, she went and killed Sirius. And he was only their because I stuffed up anyway!" he broke down into a metaphorical pool of tears (A/N: David if you ever read this, I'm sorry but it was so good to use then!). "I hate myself! I'm such a horrible person!"

He looked up to see that Hermione and Ron had both gone back inside for breakfast. "Why does nobody care?!"

He was rudely interrupted by a flock of screeching owls.

"Even the owls are against me. Hang on – OWLS!"

He raced inside the small bungalow, all thoughts of depression and suicide left behind as he ripped open the envelope that contained his future.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass Grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E) and Acceptable (A). Fail Grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D) and Troll (T) _

_HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED: _

Astronomy – A

Care of Magical Creatures – E

Charms – E

Defence Against the Dark Arts – O

Divination – P

Herbology – E

History of Magic – D

Potions – E

Transfiguration – E

Harry's self esteem shot to new heights – 7 OWLS.

This was followed by Hermione's announcement that she had got 11 OWLS. This was all the more exciting because she only took ten subjects.

Ron, on the other hand…

"Ron?" asked Ginny, who had risen from her slumber, "how'd you do?"

"I – not _terribly_ bad," said Ron in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Hermione. A pause as she read it, then… "Oh."

"What's wrong, Ronniekins…" said one of the twins.

"You can't get worse than us," finished the other.

Another pause.

"OK, maybe you can."

Harry grabbed the parchment.

Ron had got a P or below in every subject. In layman's terms: he had failed all his OWLs.

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**A/N: **Shock! Horror! What will happen next?

Well actually, I'm kind of out of ideas for the sub-plot (main plot is Harry doing "the task") so if you have any ideas leave them in a review or email/PM them to me.

Btw thanks to those who are helping with my "Myrtle the Tyrtle is lost in cyberspace problem", especially **Miones longlost twin**. I seriously can't believe that a cry for help with technical matters is my most-read story! "Humans are amazing!" – the Tenth Doctor.


	4. Chapter 4: The Slug Club

**A SEQUENCE OF ALTERNATIVE EVENTS**

BOOK THE FIRST: WHO'S THE HALF-BLOOD NOW?

**By MYRTLE THE TYRTLE**

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**A/N: **Here's chapter four of HALFBLOOD. Set from start of Chapter 7 HBP.

A reviewer asked once asked me how did Hermione get 11 OWLs if she only took 10 subjects? I actually don't know, but JKR says 11, but the only subjects I'm aware of are Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, DATDA, History of Magic, Herbology, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. Does anyone else know this?

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**CHAPTER FOUR: THE SLUG CLUB**

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Ron avoided Harry and Hermione for the rest of the holidays. He was just too embarrassed about having to take his OWLs again to have anything to do with them, so they resorted to taking long walks through the forest behind the Weasley's one-roomed house. Alone. By themselves. Doing… stuff. Together.

Ahem.

To get back on track with the story (no pun intended), the day eventually came when Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny left for Hogwarts at Platform 9¾. Ron left to go and find a compartment for them all, as the other three had been announced as Prefects (Ron had been sacked due to his failed OWLs, and Harry had replaced him).

According to Hermione, Professor McGonagall would always meet them in the front carriage, then apparate back to school to prepare for the Sorting. Therefore, they were rather surprised to see a rather obese man sitting up the front.

"I thought McGonagall's animagus form was a cat," whispered Harry, and the girls giggled.

When all the Prefects, Head Boy (Cormac McLaggan) and Head Girl (Nancy Whitburn) had assembled, the man introduced himself.

"My name is Professor Horace Slughorn," he said, "and I am a new teacher up at the school. Professor McGonagall was unable to meet you here today, as many of you probably expected. So, I am here to inform you of your responsibilities for the year."

He continued by reading off a long piece of parchment. Harry had almost fallen asleep when the man said his name.

"… Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley remain behind please, and could someone fetch Blaise Zabini, Marcus Belby and Neville Longbottom, please."

"What was that about?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, "but he wants us to remain behind for some reason."

In a matter of minutes, the requested people had arrived.

"Welcome, all," said Professor Slughorn, "My name is Professor Slughorn, and I would be interested to form a club of who I believe to be the best witches and wizards at the school."

There was a bit of a silence at that comment.

"Right, so I thought we could all start by saying a bit about ourselves, eh?" said Slughorn, apparently ignoring the awkward pause he had created moments before. "Marcus, how about you go first."

A seventh-year boy stepped forwards. "Uh, well, I don't know where to start."

"How about your uncle Damocles. I had the pleasure of teaching him during my last stint at the school, outstanding wizard, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"

Marcus shook his head.

"Well, I daresay he's busy," said Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work."

"I suppose…" began Belby, but Slughorn had turned away.

"Now Cormac, your uncle Tiberius…"

And so it went on, until Slughorn, satisfied with almost everyone, bid them all goodbye, as it was now getting dark, and they needed to change into their robes.

Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny found Ron in a compartment down the back, all alone looking a bit lost.

"It's about time you decided to come back," he said. "I've been all alone looking a bit lost."

"Sorry, Ron," said Ginny. "Some new teacher wanted to question us about a whole heap of stuff."

"Well, why wasn't I there?" Ron asked. "Am I not good enough for him, just because I failed all my OWLs?"

There was a very pregnant pause. This, evidently, was the case, as Slughorn had called them "the best witches and wizards at the school."

"Er, we should change into our robes, don't you think," said Harry, eager to change the subject."

They did so just in time, fastening their cloaks around their necks just as the train pulled to a halt outside Hogsmeade station.

"Firs' years this way!" came the familiar cry of Hagrid the CMC teacher and Groundskeeper.

Harry and his friends went the other way, following a path to where many elegant carriages were waiting, all drawn by white horses and black thestrals.

They climbed in, and the horses led them up to the castle, where they eagerly awaited the great feast that the Hogwarts elves always provided.

But first came Dumbledore's speech. "Welcome to our new students, welcome to our old students. I'd like to say a big congratulations to all our sixth years who passed their OWLs last year…"

Ron looked particularly put out.

"… and that there is a blanket ban on all objects that are dark and dangerous. In consequence to that, Mr Filch the caretaker will be jabbing you with Secrecy Sensors while you eat. Also, let's give a big Hogwarts Hello to our new members of staff, Professor Helliwell for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Slughorn who will be filling in for Professor Snape while he takes a year-long sabbatical leave, to study – and I quote – 'Potions and other crap'."

There was a hearty laugh at this last comment.

"Now, the feast should be ready, so prepare to eat and prepare to be poked!"

With that, the food appeared on the tables, and the whole school began to eat, drink and be merry until they went to bed.

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**A/N: Yeah, you're probably thinking it's a bit lame (I know I am - thinking, that is), but please bear with me. It should hopefully turn interesting in Helliwell's defence lessons…**

**MYRTLE**


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